Rhaskar answers quickly, “Based on how you’ve been using them, that should last a month, maybe more. Obviously, if you use the rarer ones regularly, I’ll need to come back sooner. Get a message to me if you need a refill. Otherwise, I’ll plan to come back in a month.”
I nod, and he pauses for a moment as though he wants to say something else. I don’t let him. Instead, I grip the sack in one hand and swing it onto the ledge above us. Then, without a word, I climb up after it, leaving Rhaskar Thorne where I found him.
I’m still furious with him, but a part of me yearns to climb back down, to give him a hug and ask him why he did what he did. I want to cry against his shoulder rather than drive my daggers into him.
He may have killed my parents, but he was the man who made me feel safe. He was my rock. And now… now I have no one.
Interlude 7
Theboyhadbeensurrounded by love and family for eighteen years. The markings across his back had decided his destiny at such a young age, yet the people around him had been the ones who’d decided how he would first see the world.
He’d had eighteen years of laughter, learning, and seeing all the wonder Nyth possessed. Stories and practical jokes with his uncles. Games played with his father. The warmth of a mother’s love for her only son. The beauty of a single flower or sunrise with one aunt and singing along to tavern songs with the other. More than anything, the wind in his face as he rode the dragon who’d bound her soul to his.
There was not a person on Nyth who could claim a better childhood than the young prince.
But in the back of all their minds, the boy included, was a timer ticking down the moments before he’d becomehers. Lysara. She had made an unbreakable deal with his mother before he’d been conceived. Her bloodline would owe the goddess fealty until the danger to her was gone—until the Hunters were no longer a threat.
Maeve Arden had doomed her child to become the Goddess of Death and Beauty’s most prized warrior. He would endure the training that only someone so well-versed in death could give. He would lead her warriors against her enemies, whoever they might be. He would be hers to command in any way.
As he stood on the balcony of the Keep of Earth overlooking Draenyth, he felt the warmth of those eighteen years draining away. A chain around his soul, which had always hung loose, tightened its grip on him. The laughter, the smiles, and more than anything, the feeling of family, faded as the one who held claim to his fealty appeared beside him.
“Azric Cyrus,” she whispered, her words a sensual caress. “It is so wonderful to meet you.”
He turned to her, seeing the woman who’d haunted his dreams for the first time. She was beautiful, more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. Her skin looked as if it had been carved from ivory. Long, raven-black hair hung in loose curls down to the middle of her back, each strand sparkling in the sunshine. Her lips were so red they could have been cut from rubies. Her eyes were soft and soothing, and his body reacted to them as much as it did to her words, instantly calming.
She wore a dress made of a midnight-black material that reminded him of a spiderweb caught in a breeze. It shone as though she had pulled the stars from the sky and made the dress from their light. Fitting as tight as a second skin, there was no doubt as to the goddess’s shape, and the plunging neckline that dipped below her ribs teased him.
“The stories say you’re the most beautiful woman alive,” he whispered back. “But I didn’t understand.”
She smiled at the boy she’d watched since his birth. He had known love from his family, but he’d never experienced the love of a woman. She used that fact against him as she ran the back of her crimson nails over his cheek and gazed into his violet eyes.
“I am the Goddess of Beauty,” she breathed. “And I will teach you many things about both beautyand death.”
He nodded to her, and her nails moved lower to caress his throat as she stepped toward him. “You’re mine, Azric Cyrus. You understand that, don’t you?”
Again, he nodded to her, his body reacting in a way he’d never experienced. His body thrummed with desire for the goddess. His world revolved around her with a single touch. “You made the marks on my back because you brought my father back to life.”
“That’s right,” she said. She moved her lips closer to his, not to kiss him, but to let him breathe her scent in, to let her powers wrap around him completely. “Azric, I desire your loyalty, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep you happy. It’s important that you enjoy your time with me. You’re destined to be the savior of Nyth, and you can’t do that if you are unhappy.”
He looked into her eyes and found himself falling deeper and deeper into the soft numbness of lust. With a shaking hand, he reached out for the goddess. She didn’t turn away from him as she would have if anyone else had tried to touch her.
But even a goddess cannot truly hide who she is, and when his fingers caressed her cheek as she had done to him, the woman before him changed ever so slightly.
The beautiful black dress woven from the midnight sky and starlight was covered in blood. Her ivory skin was drenched in it. Her black eyes were crimson, and what he’d thought were lips made from rubies were actually soaked in blood.
He instantly pulled back, every bit of the desire fleeing him as he looked upon the woman that he was sworn to. “You don’t like what you see?” she asked. “Am I no longer the most beautiful woman in the world?”
Suddenly, he couldn’t move. Even his lungs seemed held in place, and yet he didn’t need air any longer. Nothing moved. The birds were held suspended in mid-flight. The wind was gone. The world was silent in a way it had never been before.
Yet Lysara moved, completely unaffected by the changes. This time, when she ran her crimson nails over his cheek, they left bloody streaks across his skin. When she bent down to breathe over him as she had before, he could smell death on her. When she pressed her lips to his, the unmistakable metallic tang of blood overwhelmed him.
Still, he couldn’t move. Her nails moved to his tunic, and as they touched it, it tore as cleanly as if a blade had cut it. It fell to theground, and Lysara’s lips moved to his neck. His body couldn’t resist the lust she poured into him, but that did not mean he wished for her affections. Everything about this goddess disgusted him, and yet he could do nothing to stop her. Even as his body reacted to her touch, his mind revolted against it.
Her lips left a bloody trail across his chest. She moved her hands to his trousers, and there was nothing but fear and disgust in the young prince.
A wide line of flames erupted across the balcony, and everything changed. Suddenly, he could move again, and he pulled back from the goddess before she ever touched his trousers. “What are you doing?” he asked, on the verge of tears. “I don’t want this.”
“You are mine, Azric Cyrus,” the goddess said again, her bloody smile showing sharp teeth like any other predator who’d recently fed. “I want you to be happy, and I can bring you more pleasure than anyone else in Nyth.”
